The Youngest Holmes: A Study in Pink
by Alycatabra
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has a younger sister. It is Annabetha who brings John Watson into the consulting detective's life.
1. Prolog

_I do not own Sherlock... I only own Annabetha._

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**The Youngest Holmes: A Study in Pink**

**Prolog**

"I'm worried about Sherlock."

The sentence was common enough. It had been spoken by practically every person that ever stepped foot into the Holmes house. After all, Sherlock was quite different from most people.

This time, however, there was something very different about that statement. For one it was being said to a skull. It was a cat skull, to be specific. The skull had once belonged to a beloved pet cat by the name of Panthera. But Panthera was long dead. And the only thing that remained of him was the meticulously preserved skull, which now sat nestled amongst a pair of frilly white pillows. The person who made the statement was also unusual. After all Annabetha Holmes was fully devoted to her older brother.

With a sigh, Annabetha continued to speak to her companion. "I tried to talk to Mummy about it but she just brushed me off." The five-year-old girl sat cross-legged on her bed, hand propping up her chin. "There is no point in talking to Father. He doesn't care about any of us. Well, maybe Mycroft." Annabetha reached over and scoped up the skull. Strocking her fingers along the object's smooth edges, she pondered, "I suppose I could talk to one of the nannies about it, but they are all scared of him."

She paused as she heard a tiny noise outside of her bedroom door. It was a creak. Mute and almost undetectable, it was triggered by very light footsteps on the hardwood floor in the hall. The small girl knew all too well who was standing outside her door. And she knew exactly how to get him to reveal himself.

With a smirk, she said, "Of course, I could always go to Mycroft."

"You wouldn't dare." Sherlock said opening his sister's door with a bang.

Annabetha sat up straight and smiled widely at her brother. "Of course I wouldn't. Mycroft is an idiot." She said. "I knew you were right outside my door."

Sherlock blinked at her for a second before gracing his sister with a small grin. "Oh you are clever, aren't you?" He said, walking into the room. He scooped the cat skull out of Annabetha's hands. "Hello Panthera."

"I am worried about you though." Annabetha whispered. Her ten-year-old brother said nothing, still looking over the small nuances of the skull. He was paler than usual and that was saying something. Sherlock was always pale. "When was the last time you ate something?"

"What day is it?" Sherlock asked absently.

Snatching the skull out of his hands, Annabetha snapped, "I am serious Sherlock! I'm worried about you. You need to eat. If you don't eat you will end up collapsing. Then you will have to go to the hospital."

"Don't be an idiot." The boy scoffed in reply.

If she had been anybody else, Annabetha may have thrown in the towel and given up her plan to get her brother to eat. But Annabetha was a Holmes. And Holmeses were nothing if not stubborn. Breathing deeply, the young girl prepared for battle. Her weapon of choice today was Sherlock's favorite cinnamon sugar biscuits. Picking up the plate of biscuits that was sitting on her bedside table, she turned to find her brother's bright blue-gray eyes studying her.

"Eat Sherlock." She demanded holding the plate out. Her brother turned up his nose at the treat in refusal. "Please."

"Eating is dull." Sherlock insisted in reply. "And boring. Besides digesting slows down my mind."

"Eat." Annabetha repeated forcibly. "Or I will tell Mycroft that you are not eating. And you know that if I do, he will have you sent to the hospital."

The two Holmes children stood face-to-face, locked in a battle of wills. It seemed as though there would be no winner. Until finally the elder Holmes gave off a growl. "Fine!" He snapped taking the plate of biscuits and stuffing one in his mouth.

Annabetha watched as he chewed and swallowed the food before smiling. "Thank you." She murmured. Quickly, she stood on her toes and kissed Sherlock's cheek. Silently, the boy continued to eat the cinnamon treat, savoring its sweet taste.

After finishing his third biscuit, Sherlock spoke up. "Why do you care?"

Annabetha careful placed Panthera on her windowsill. "Because you're my brother." She responded softly. "And I love you."

"What are you going to do when we are grown?" Sherlock asked, setting the plate with the remaining biscuits on Annabetha's dresser.

His baby sister frowned deeply. "What do you mean?"

"One day you won't be around to force me to eat." Sherlock responded. "When I am an adult, I won't eat if I don't want to."

Annabetha pondered this for a moment. "Well then I guess I will have to keep tabs on you." She reasoned. "I will just have to stay close." She shrugged. "At least until you find someone else who can keep an eye on you."

The young boy snorted. "When I am an adult, I won't need somebody to keep an eye on me. I won't need anybody. Besides people don't like me."

"Somebody will." Annabetha insisted. "Everybody has somebody. Even you. Someone out there will be exactly what you need."

Sherlock shock his head. "No! I don't need anybody. And I never will!"

His sister just smiled. "Maybe it's not so much about you needing someone as it is someone needing you. One day, you'll find that someone. And it will change everything."

"I don't think so." Sherlock said.

"Well I do." Annabetha insisted. "And until we find that special person, I will keep an eye on you."

The siblings stood at the window in silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. Each pondered what such a person must be like to need Sherlock Holmes. Surely they would be a little insane. Annabetha was sure they were out there somewhere. And she would find them for her brother. Even if it took a thousand years.

As it turns out, it would only take twenty.


	2. Chapter 1: Sherlock

Chapter One

Sherlock

"You're a saint!" Mrs. Martha Hudson said as she opened the front door of 221B Bakers St. Annabetha let out a small laughed and shifted her grocery bag to her left hand.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson." The 25-year-old replied stepping into the building. The elder lady closed and locked the door behind her ringing her hands. Annabetha turned and watched as the women shift and fidget nervously. "Has he been that bad while I was gone? It's only been a week?"

"I don't think he has slept." Mrs. Hudson cried, worry and stress evident in her warm brown eyes. "Or eaten."

Annabetha glanced up the stairs toward her brother's apartment. She wasn't entirely surprised to hear that Sherlock had not eaten or slept in days. More often than she liked, the younger Holmes had to quite literally force feed her brother. He was definitely not the easiest person to cope with. A sudden loud bang, like an explosion erupted from the floor above. Mrs. Hudson whimper, holding a hand to her greying brown hair.

Explosion were slightly more concerning to Annabetha, and based on Mrs. Hudson's reaction, this was not the first explosion of the day. "How long that been going on?" She asked turning her attention back to Sherlock's landlady.

"All morning." Mrs. Hudson answered. "It is reeking havoc with my nerves."

The young girl sighed. "Not to worry, Mrs. Hudson, I am here now." She gently began to stir the lady back to her apartment. "Why don't you get out for a bit? I hear that Mrs. Turner's boys are considering adoption."

The elderly lady protest weakly. "But what about-"

"Don't you worry." Annabetha assured her. "I will have Sherlock fed and asleep by the time you return."

Mrs. Hudson nodded and turned to her door. "I don't want to know how you plan to do that."

"Oh and here is Sherlock's rent." She added handing the landlady a check. "I am looking into getting him a flatmate though."

"Who'd want him for a flatmate?" The old woman dithered.

Annabetha just smiled softly. "There is someone out there for everyone."

As Mrs. Hudson turned back into her apartment, the youngest Holmes turned her attention back to the task of get her brother settled. Mrs. Hudson was a truly wonderful lady. She put up with far too much from her brother than any person ever should. Annabetha supposed that it was in at the least partly due to the fact that Sherlock had ensured her abusive husband's execution just a few years prior. As a favor, she had given Sherlock a substantial discount in rent to lease the upstairs flat. He was still not able to afford it on his own. Sherlock didn't have a job. While the Holmes family was considerably wealthy, Sherlock had gotten into trouble years ago which made it so that he now only had access to a limited allowance. That allowance was not enough to pay the rent at 221B Baker St. For the time being, Annabetha was helping to pay for the remainder of the rent, but she knew that she could not continue to pay her brother's way in life. He needed to stand on his own. And for that, he would need someone to move into the spare bedroom. But who in their right mind would be able to tolerate a sociopath like Sherlock Holmes?

Annabetha reached the top of the stairs as another _boom _rattled the walls. She sighed as she walked inside. The place was an absolute mess. Boxes and papers were everywhere. She walked further into the room. Scotland Yard paperwork was spread out over the couch. None of it was filled out. Annabetha made a mental note to force Sherlock fill out the paperwork later and return it to the Yard later. Sherlock's prized violin was sitting in its case, next the window. It was probably one of the only things in the entire flat that her brother took exceptional care of.

The other item was a human skull. Annabetha had jokingly called the skull Yorick. The young woman walked over to the mantle place where Yorick sat with his ghostly grin. She smiled back stroking the cranium gently. Glancing up, she caught sight of her reflection in the glass of the window.

There could be no doubt in anybody's mind that Sherlock and Annabetha were closely related. Both Holmeses possessed thick black curls, though Annabetha's curls were much longer. Both had sharp feature with prominent cheekbones. Each had blue eyes, though Annabetha were a vibrant sky blue, whereas Sherlock's held more of an icy grey tint. Speaking of which…

Annabetha looked to her left to find her brother hunched over a petri dish in the kitchen. Obviously, Sherlock planned on doing experiments all day, as he was dressed in lounge pants and an old t-shirt with a royal blue dressing gown thrown on top. As Annabetha approached, she noticed a number of singe marks on the table with Sherlock's experiments had exploded earlier.

"How was the mission?" Sherlock's deep baritone sounded interrupting the silence of the morning. "I trust that it was successful."

Annabetha entered the apartment and crossed to the stove. "Of course it was." She said stooping down to retrieve the tea kettle that she kept tucked away in a cabinet under the sink. She filled it with water and flicked on the stove. "It would have gone even better if Mycroft's men were not idiots."

Sherlock snorted. "Did you expect anything less?"

"I suppose not." Annabetha went about preparing eggs, taking out dishes and pull ingredients out of the plastic grocery bad that she had brought with her. The first thing for her to do was to get something in Sherlock's stomach. . Eggs and toast with tea would be just fine for now. Then she would concentrate on getting her brother to sleep.

After more than two decades of experimenting on her brother, Annabetha now knew a number of different tricks to use to get Sherlock in bend to her will. Usually all she wanted was for him to eat and sleep regularly. After all, it wasn't healthy to go days on end with eating or sleeping.

The Holmes siblings worked in silence. Annabetha was mildly curious about what her brother was working on, but she also knew that if she asked then Sherlock would more than likely get annoyed and he would be that much more difficult for Annabetha to get him to cooperate with her. It was best just to let him work for now.

After about ten minutes, breakfast was ready. She divided it into two plates and carried them over to the small kitchen table. Placing her own plate out of harm's way, Annabetha swiftly swapped out the other plate for Sherlock's notebook. Using her ankle, she snagged the power cord to Sherlock's microscope and pulled it out of the outlet.

The older Holmes looked up sharply, glaring at his younger sister. Annabetha just raised her eyebrows in a silent challenge and stared back. "Eat." She ordered firmly scooting the plate of eggs and toast closer to the man. Sherlock just continued to watch her silently as Annabetha filled two mugs with boiling water and added the tea bags.

Placing the mugs on the table, she retrieved her own plate and began to eat. Sherlock had not moved. Annabetha sighed in exasperation. "I didn't drug your food, Sherlock." She insisted.

"Forgive me if I hesitate," her brother replied, "but once I eat, you will attempt to get me to sleep. I am not tired which means that the only way you will succeed in getting me to sleep in to give me some kind of tranquilizer."

Annabetha rolled her eyes. "That may be true, but it doesn't mean I drugged your food." She leaned forward between to numerous test tubes and stabbed a bite of Sherlock's eggs, then popped it in her mouth. "See, it's fine. Now eat or I will force feed you."

Sherlock started at for another moment before taking a small bite of his eggs. Annabetha turned her attention to the notebook that her brother had been writing in. Apparently, the older Holmes had been comparing paint fleck of the same color but different brands. It had to be for a case. Sherlock considered himself to be a "consulting detective" which meant that he help New Scotland Yard with cases when they were stumped. Annabetha was personally glad that her brother had found a purpose. She worried about him.

After about ten minute, the young woman no longer heard the gentle scraping of a fork on a plate or the crunch of tea being chewed. She looked up at her companion. Sure enough, Sherlock had set down his fork and was sitting still, staring at her. Smiling her thanks, Annabetha handed the notebook back to its owner and gathered up the dishes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her brother bend table and plug his microscope back in.

Once the dished were clean, dried, and put away, Annabetha stopped to consider her next move. Sherlock needed to sleep. There was no doubt about it. But Sherlock was right. At this point the only thing that would get him to sleep was a drug of some sort. None of Annabetha's other tricks were going to work this time. He was just too wired. Fortunately the youngest Holmes was just as smart as her brother.

"You are right you know?" She said softly as she walked to the fridge to put away the eggs and cheese.

"I always am." Sherlock responded not even bothering to look up. "What about this time?"

Annabetha closed the fridge door turned to face her brother's back. "The only way you will sleep is if I drug you." Fast as lightning she pulled to small device out of her pocket and jammed it into her brother's thigh.

The effect was instantaneous. Sherlock's entire being froze up then started to sag forward. "But you said…" he murmured, his speech already starting to slur.

"I said that I wouldn't drug your food." She removed the pen and needle from Sherlock's thigh and held it up for her brother to see. "You like it? It is a modified Epi-pen. Instead of epinephrine inside, it has a very carefully measured dose of methaqualone."

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but the drug took full effect. He quickly lost the battle with consciousness and collapse. Scoffing under her breath, Annabetha caught the sleeping man before he could hit the floor.

She was surprisingly strong for her appearance and was able to fairly easily drag be brother into her room. Gently laying him in his bed, she tucked the sheets of duvets around him. "Sweet dreams big brother." She murmured, kissing his forehead lovingly. Then she stood and walked back into the living room. It was time to get to work.


End file.
